Silence In Belgravia
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: Sequel to "The Silent Game" They had solved one puzzle only to find they had so many more to piece together now. But will an interesting case prove to be a little too interesting for our three flatmates to ignore?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**

_Sequel to "The Silent Game"_

_They had solved one puzzle only to find they had so many more to piece together now. But with Moriarty giving promises out to our Consulting Detective and the seemingly never ending boredom eating at our team of friends and colleagues, will an interesting case prove to be a little too interesting to ignore?_

**AN**

_**Well, I've writing far more than I ever intended to and this is my main series at the moment. I have loads of free time to be writing the stories and will end up doing the whole second series eventually. I will try to update as much as I can, but reviews always help to push me along!**_

_**I'm also working on a few other stories at the moment and so I'll be jumping between them a little bit to try to keep on top of them as well. Please let me know if you want me to continue some of the others and I will do my best.**_

_**So please **_**review**_**! **_

_**Reviews mean I will write faster and then you have more stories!**_

_**A big THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed / subscribed / is following the series and everyone who actually reads the stories in the first place!**_

_**Keep reading and I hope you enjoy the alternate universe of series two!**_

_**=]**_

**Silence In Belgravia**

**The Silence is Staying Alive**

"And possibly my answer has crossed yours."

Rose's breath hitched as she watched the raised gun lower slightly, a new target in it's sights; the coat / bomb that sat on the floor, just feet in front of Moriarty himself.

She lowered her head, trying not to think of her parents and brothers, only focusing on the fact that John was nowhere near all of this mess.

Sherlock saw Rose's head drop out of the corner of his eye, her own eyes shutting but he kept his main gaze focused on those of the other man. The expression Jim gave him told him that the Consulting Criminal didn't believe Sherlock would pull the trigger. Sherlock's expression told Jim that he was wrong; he could do it and he would.

He had to.

He threw Moriarty one last venomous glare, eyes squinting in pure, burning hatred - and he'd never admit it to any person, but fear - as he focused on the muscles in his trigger finger, forcing them to work, starting to pull the trigger back.

Just as he went to do so fully however, music filled the swimming pool area. Rose frowned, recognising it instantly; _you've got to be kidding me…_

Sherlock looked around the room briefly, eyes resting on Rose's confused face for a fraction of a second before moving back to Moriarty's unchanged face. Throwing the man a questioning eye, he saw Jim start to move once more.

_Perfect timing_, Jim thought, pulling a face and shaking his head slightly in mild annoyance. "Do you mind if I get that?"

Sherlock just replied as normally as possible while Rose raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no, please." Then his tone turned more threatening. "You've got the rest of your life."

Jim pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, answering the call with an echoing click. "Hello? …Yes of course it is, what do you want?" He asked, mouthing a, _sorry,_ to Sherlock, who replied, _it's fine_.

Jim turned away, focusing on the call while Sherlock and Rose just waited, the tension having left the room mostly at the sound of the ring tone. Both Rose and Sherlock jumped slightly though at Jim's loud demand of "_Say that again_!" The criminal controlled himself then, speaking at a normal level but the underlying tone was still present in the sound. "Say that again and know if you are lying to me I will find you and _skin_ you." Sherlock and Rose just glanced at each other, wondering what the call was about. "Wait…"

Moriarty pulled the phone down but didn't hang up, just taking a few steps forward, coming to a stop just behind the bomb and addressing Sherlock once again, frowning as he spoke slowly. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh." Answered Sherlock, sounding quite disappointed. "Did you get a better offer?"

Moriarty just smiled ever so slightly, ignoring Sherlock's question. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Turning away, he walked across to the first door he entered by, putting the phone to his ear once more. "So, if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

Just before he reached the door however, he raised a hand, clicking his fingers before leaving, not even breaking his stride. As soon as he did so, the red laser pointers all vanished, leaving Sherlock and Rose seemingly alone once more.

Rose was still confused though, looking to Sherlock for answers. "Okay, what just happened?"

Sherlock looked over to her, face wary. "Someone just changed his mind. The question is; _who_?"

"Hmm…" Rose replied. "Do you think it might be a good idea to leave before he comes back for round three?"

"Good idea." Sherlock said, pocketing the gun once more but keeping his hand on it. They wasted no time getting out of the building, Sherlock calling Lestrade to tell him of the rather large bomb that was sitting on the side of the pool.

Getting out onto the main street, Sherlock hailed a cab, wanting to avoid all of the police that were due to arrive in the next minute. Holding the door for Rose, he told the driver the address while Rose thought about which she would rather first; a cup of strong tea, or a cigarette.


	2. Chapter 2

**Silence In Belgravia**

**A Silent Call**

Sitting on the sofa of 221B, Rose decided to do one more thing before she turned in for the night, coming to the conclusion that it would be best to put all of the day's events to rest in one night.

Sherlock sat in his chair, thinking about what could have made Moriarty change his mind when he noticed Rose hand pulled out her phone as she stubbed out her cigarette. Picking up her now empty mug, she stoop up to go to the kitchen, pressing the call button and lifting the devise to her ear, waiting for who ever she was calling to pick up. Sherlock frowned; it was nearly two in the morning, _who on earth would she call at this time?_

The line was picked up and Rose smiled slightly at the answer. "_Miss Spencer, to what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning call?"_

"My apologies, Mr Holmes. I do hope I didn't wake you." She started off.

His reply however sounded like it was said through a smile. _"Of course not, my dear, but did you have a reason for this call?"_

"I thought you may want an update on the Bruce-Partington plans." She told him, thinking about the memory pen that she had stashed away in her room, glad that she had done so now.

Sherlock sat up at the mention of his brother. The plans? _This cannot be a good phone call…_

"_I take it you have it then?" _He asked, a slight smile in his voice.

"Indeed." She replied, carefully trying to avoid anything that would hint to Sherlock that she actually had the real plans just downstairs.

"_I will send my assistant round to pick them up then, my dear. I would assume you are at the flat?" _He asked, just to make sure.

"Yes, of course." She replied, making her way from the sink to the table, making sure to avoid anything that could be quite dangerous - most of what was in the kitchen/science lab - and taking a small evidence bag out of the box in one of the cupboards. She still didn't know where Sherlock had managed to get the box from.

"_Well, she shouldn't be long, half an hour maybe._" He replied.

Rose yawned, suddenly feeling the weight of several days lack of decent sleep catching up to her. "Alright, I'll wait up for her then. G'night Mr Holmes."

"_Good night, my dear." _He replied, chuckling at her tiredness, before she hung up.

The other Holmes brother however was confused by the call. Rose had hung up and gone down to her room for a second before coming back and sitting on the sofa with her laptop for a few minutes. That was all it took for Sherlock to work out what had actually happened.

He was partly happy that she had learned enough to fool him. Partly annoyed that she had fooled him in the first place. But there was one thing he didn't understand. "Why?"

She didn't look up from the screen of her laptop, expecting the question from him. "You know why, Sherlock."

"If I knew I wouldn't ask." He snapped. "Why didn't you give me the real one?"

She looked up then. "Because you would have given it to a master criminal. Even if he did want it, it wasn't yours to barter with!" She said, voice sharp but still the same volume as she usually kept.

Sherlock drew a blank then. He wasn't used to her arguing back with him, not over something this serious. He still had to have the last word though; he always did. "You _couldn't _have known I was going out though or what I was planning!"

"No, but I do know what you're capable of and at the end of the day you did exactly what I expected, didn't you?" She said quietly, tone a lot lower than usual, looking back to her screen. Just because she was right, didn't mean she liked it.

Sherlock just sat there, staring at the wall. He wanted the gun but Rose had made sure he put it away when they got back. He just couldn't see how he didn't see it, how she had tricked him. At least Moriarty had put genuine effort into his work; Rose had just switched a memory pen around! It was maddening.

Twenty minutes later, they heard the door bell call out through the flat, Rose getting up to answer the door, having just turned off her laptop off. Anthea stood there, phone in hand as always. As the door opened she looked up though. "Good morning." She greeted, surprisingly awake and dressed just as smartly as always.

"It will be when I wake up to it." Replied Rose, stifling another yawn as she took the evidence bag out of her pocket, giving the plans over to Anthea.

Anthea just chuckled, enjoying seeing the woman a little less hostile for once, taking the bag off her. "Sleep well then."

"Yeah..." Answered Rose as Anthea walked off to the car parked right outside the flat, closing the door after her.

Rose stood looking at the stairs before deciding that a lack of an alarm in the morning was precisely what was needed, turning to make her way to her room, all the while wondering if Sherlock would talk to her in the morning. She didn't worry though; he always ended up talking again after he had his little sulk.

_Big child_, was the last thought she had before she went into a sleep too deep to dream of the nightmares that were surely waiting for her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Cases of Silence**

Rose woke up at ten to nine the next morning, hearing the front door slam loudly. It took her a few seconds to remember why, but once she did, she let our a loud groan, reality catching up with her again; Sherlock was seeing people; unsupervised.

Rose quickly jumped in the shower, taking only fifteen minutes to wash, dress and make herself overall presentable for potential clients, putting on her now usual black trousers, black shirt and heels, just in case Sherlock decided that they needed to go out suddenly. Putting her hair up in a low pony tail, she grabbed her phone, lighter and cigarettes and went to make her way upstairs.

Before she got to the stairs though, a knock at the door interrupted her. _Oh, it's going to be a busy day today, isn't it? _She thought, hoping that at least one of them would be interesting.

Opening the door, she saw a balding man in a tan coat standing there, looking rather awkward. "Umm…"

"For Sherlock Holmes?" Rose asked, knowing the drill by now of how to deal with potential clients. He nodded quickly and she opened the door wider for him. "Right this way, sir."

Taking him up the stairs, she showed him to the living room, chair already set out from the previous client that had just stormed out, calling out, "Sherlock, client for you."

Sherlock himself came in from the kitchen, dressing in his pyjamas still, dressing gown completing the look. He looked to the new man. "Ah, what have we got now then…"

Rose went to the kitchen to get herself a glass of orange juice and was listening in on the conversation.

"My wife," The man started, "seems to be spending a lot of time at the office-"

He was promptly cut off by Sherlock's dismissive, "Boring!"

Rose left the juice on the side, knowing that she would have to intervene before Sherlock really insulted the man; she knew it wouldn't take much, he wasn't in one of his more social moods today it seemed. _Then again, when was Sherlock ever social_, she thought absently as she walked briskly to the living room. Sherlock was pacing up and down, completely ignoring the stressed man in the chair.

"I'm sorry sir." She started, smiling slightly, already knowing what needed doing to cover Sherlock's back in these sorts of situations. "Mr Holmes doesn't really take on these sorts of cases."

"Oh." Said the man, looking a little confused. "Sorry to have wasted your time then." With that, he took his leave, Rose offering him a small smile before going to put the juice away.

Going to sit on the sofa, Rose put her drink on the table and lit up a cigarette. "You really should at least try to be a little more pleasant you know, possibly getting dressed and all that."

Sherlock didn't say anything to her, only continued pacing for several more minutes before going to his room at a seemingly random moment. _Okay, not speaking to me, but not totally ignoring me either, I can live with that,_ Rose thought as she drained the last of her glass, contemplating going on the internet for a bit as she took it to the kitchen. Before she could make it back to the living room however, the door bell went off again.

Opening the door once again, Rose knew immediately it was going to be one of those boring days where no one would interest the Consulting Detective and it would be a rare thing for Rose to take one.

The short, dumpy woman just had that unhappy air around her; though that was usually the case when people came to them. If they were happy, there would be no job for them.

"Come in." Said Rose, holding the door open for the woman. After the new woman was seated in the living room Rose spoke again. "I'll go see if he's going to be long."

Going up to Sherlock's room she wondered for the hundredth time what could actually be in the man's room. Pushing away the thoughts - that were possibly boundless, Sherlock having such weird things in the kitchen, what could he have in his own room? - she knocked thrice on his door, noting the lack of noise from the shower. "Sherlock, you've got another client. Are you going to be long?" She waited for him, knowing that he would likely just not speak to her.

As predicted, two minutes later, Sherlock came out of his room, fully clothed, hair slightly damp. He spared her a small glance before heading to the living room to see the client. Rose just sighed and followed after him.

"I think my husband might be having an affair." The stranger started.

"Yes." Sherlock confirmed.

And that was how the day went on; Rose bringing in new clients, then trying to salvage some sort of consultation, Sherlock not speaking to her and insulting and annoying the people who cam in as much as he could it seemed.

After the woman whose husband was cheating on her, they had three more affair stories, a man who was suspected of insurance fraud and wanted his name cleared, a woman who thought her neighbour was trying to kill all her flowers and a case about a missing horse.

Rose went out that evening to get milk, only to come home to Sherlock shooting the wall again. She just made him coffee and a plate of jam on toast and left him to it, going to her room to listen to her music and do a little drawing. When night came, she got ready for bed, setting her alarm first and hoping that John would come home soon.

When she woke up in the morning, she found that the flat was quiet; unusually so. There was always some form of sound in 221B and the silence was usually more unnerving than whatever could be going on.

Quickly putting on her dressing gown that she picked up the other week - a treat that she thought may come in handy come the colder months - and went upstairs to see if Sherlock was about.

Going to the living room first, she found it empty of the man, the coffee cup empty, the toast with two bites out of it. _Good enough_.

Taking the mug and the plate to the kitchen, she found the man at the table, writing in a quick scrawl in one of his surprising extensive collection of notebooks. Putting the dishes in the sink, she made herself some fresh toast and a cup of tea, making another cup of coffee for Sherlock and then went to sit in the living room.

An hour later, she was full, showered, dressed and sitting on the sofa again, wondering what to do. Just as she was considering going to get a book off the shelf when the door bell rang.

Rose sighed. _Here we go again._

Sitting in one of the chairs, Rose watched Sherlock pace around the room out of the corner of her eye, the upset man in front of her about to explain his problem, an urn clutched tightly in his hands.

"She's not my real aunt." He said, Rose raising an eyebrow at his words. "She's been replaced. I know she has. I know human ash-"

"Leave." Demanded Sherlock, Rose too shocked to actually say anything; the guy was creepy.

An hour later, Rose was interrupted in her reading by the door once more, finding three gentlemen on the door step. One sitting in the chair, the other two standing behind in a bodyguard fashion, Rose started the whole thing off.

"So, what's the problem, gentlemen?" She smiled.

The man in the chair spoke, the other two not even moving. "We are willing to pay any some of money you care to mention for the recovery of this fi-"

"Boring." Declared Sherlock.

Rose just smiled politely. "Not today it seems gentlemen. I'll see you out, shall I?"

Half an hour later, there was another trio of not so mature men sat in the living room, again one sat on the chair, the other two stood behind, though the three were far less intimidating then the previous group of men.

"We have this website, it explains the true meaning of comic books because people often miss a lot of the themes…" He started, but Sherlock was getting bored, they could all see, so the young man hurried on, trying not to get kicked out. "…but, then all the comic books started coming true!"

Sherlock paused in his pacing. "Oh…interesting." He seemed quite surprised by this fact.

Rose started paying more attention now, knowing that they would likely be taking this one; even if it was one of the more insane of the ones that they took. "So, something happens in a comic, then it happens in real life?"

One of the boys in the back spoke up then. "Oh, no, comic books aren't actually comics. They're graphic novels." He explained, voice quick and as though he had said the words so many times they were automatically strummed together.

Rose just blinked, not really knowing the difference between the three either way. "Oh… right."

He seemed to be embarrassed at speaking up then. "Don't worry, people usually make that mistake." She just smiled at him, trying to put him at ease again, but he just seemed to turn a little pink in the cheeks.

Sherlock just let out a huff at the break in information, Rose resisting an eye roll. "So, explain a little more. Have you actually seen them?"

"Yes." He replied, as though sure she wouldn't believe him and he was already tired of her arguments and teasing. She just raised an eyebrow though and he calmed himself a little. "Yes, I've seen Sophy, the Wolflady, getting rid of some luggage in New Cross Station as well as The Flying Bludgeon taking down a mugger, just on Wandsworth Common."

While Sherlock looked like this was all completely possible and that the young man's word was all he needed, Rose thought she needed a little more than that. "Do you have any evidence? Did anyone else see it?"

"I don't know about anyone else, we haven't heard anything, but I took a picture of one of them." He took his iPhone out of his pocket, flicking through files until he found the one he wanted, handing the devise over to Rose. "I wanted to be ready that time, wanted some proof."

Rose took the phone off of him, not really knowing what to expect but was surprised to see a blue skinned man, standing just outside of Greggs. _Okay, this is starting to get a little weirder…_

"Okay, where do we start, Sherlock?" She asked, handing the phone back over.

"What's your name?" He asked the seated young man.

"Chris Melas, and these two are kind of my assistants." The seated young man - Chris - explained.

It had been a long three days of Rose trying to get Sherlock to actually speak to her, but the man was annoyingly persistent. She had tried to ask question after question, each one getting more annoying or obvious in there answer each time. She had given that up after three hours, getting bored with it. In the end though, they solved the case, Sherlock using his homeless network to find a woman who knew about computers to find the answer.

Sherlock and Rose got out of the cab, both dressed in full black, masks on, covering their entire of their heads except for a strip over their eyes, wooden bladed swords strapped to their backs. They had just come back from the middle of Soho, getting a little revenge for the mistreatment of Chris and his friends, since the comic book company couldn't actually be held accountable for any illegal activities.

Heading up the stairs, Rose went to the living room where she had left her cigarettes and lighter as she could only fit her phone on her person in the outfit she wore. What she found sitting in the living room however was a now very freaked out and seemingly stressed Dr Watson, who had frozen at the sight of her and was now glancing over to the desk draw that held the gun they kept.

_This will one be fun to explain, _Rose thought.

John let himself into 221B, taking his suitcase up to his room before deciding that he could unpack later and that finding his flatmates would be a far better idea.

He had done a lot of thinking over the past several days, having Harry give her opinion on the situation as well. He could still remember his sister's slightly slurred words.

_John, he sounds like a genius from what you've said. Just don't expect him to be perfect, he's there when it counts and does good things, even if it's not really for the right reasons. Give the guy a break!_

John had realised though - though his sister was a little drunk, as always - she was generally right. Sherlock _did _do good things. He _was_ there when it counted. He didn't dance around things, he'd either ignore it or be blatantly blunt about the facts. Though many may not see it, Sherlock was in fact a half decent person.

This was why when he had a phone call from Lestrade asking how his two flatmates were, John became a little worried.

"_What do you mean, how are they?" John asked, wondering what on earth could have happened in the few days he'd been away._

_There was a pause. "What do you think I mean? I'm wondering if they're alright. I know I'd still be a little out of it, even after a few days." Lestrade replied._

"_Lestrade, I'm not in London, I haven't been for a few days. Last I knew they were both still working the bomber case…" Then it clicked. "Oh, god, what the hell's happened?"_

Lestrade had explained everything to John - all that he knew anyway - and John had packed up his suitcase, getting the first train back to London to find out what had really happened. He knew that with Sherlock - and even Rose sometimes - there was always more than what was in the police report.

Going to the living room, he found it empty. _Out on a case probably, _he assumed. _They can't be that bad then…_

Sitting down in his favourite chair John tried not to worry too much, though the fact that he knew what both Sherlock and Rose were like, just because they weren't home, it didn't mean everything was alright.

He suddenly heard a cab pull up just outside though, followed shortly by the sound of the front door opening, two sets of foot steps on the stairs. John let out a breath in relief.

That was until - as impossible as it seemed - a ninja walked in the living room.

_What…?_

A woman by the looks of the general shape of the person - not so broad shoulders, slim and all round feminine in shape - dressed in full black, several layers of material making up her clothing, a gap about an inch or so in height ran from one side of her face to the other, letting two dark blue eyes peer out to him, each lined with black liner, eyelashes more defined with black mascara.

Not really knowing what to do, John froze. It took him a moment or two to remember the gun in the draw of the desk; the only problem was getting to it.

Before he could move though the person in front of him spoke and his eyes went wide at the voice he heard, recognising it instantly. "Want a cuppa, John?"

It took him a moment for the panic to settle a little but it was a little bit of a challenge as he had worked himself into such a state over his flatmates not being home and then having to possibly fight a ninja that he just blinked and nodded, trying to relax a little bit.

Rose just chuckled slightly, and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on while Sherlock walked in the room behind her, throwing himself on the sofa. He had taken off his mask, showing his very unruly hair sitting on his head, but he was still dressed in his full black clothing, identical to Rose's, with a few alterations to make it fit better for him.

When Rose returned with two mugs - tea for John, coffee for Sherlock - she took one more trip to the kitchen, getting her own mug and walking to sit in the chair opposite John. Holding the steaming mug with one hand, she took off her mask to drink her own tea, showing her hair having been pulled back into a tight French plait, the tail of which was tucked into one of the folds of material around her back, hiding it from sight. After a moment or two of silence she spoke up, taking a sip of drink first. "Are you okay, John? You seem quiet."

John blinked and looked up at her. "Yeah, I'm fine." He seemed to remember his worries then, coming back down to earth from his cloud of unusual happenings that seemed to occur at 221B. "Are you?" He looked from her to Sherlock and back again, sensing that something wasn't quite right. "I mean… I heard about the bomb…"Her face paled slightly at the memory and she pulled out a box of cigarettes and her lighter, lighting up while avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, we're fine. Little shaken but we always bounce back, don't we, Sherlock?" Getting only a small, _hm_, in reply, Rose smiled slightly. Taking a deep pull on her cigarette, the end of it glowing brightly, she sighed out a large puff of smoke. "Good enough."

John frowned; _what was going on? _But at his curious, and slightly worried, look, she waved a hand at him and he frowned slightly, letting her know that they would have to talk about it some other time.

"How's Harry?" She asked instead, changing the subject.

The next morning, Rose got up at her usual time and listened to the familiar sounds of a once again full flat. Sherlock was in the shower, John in the kitchen, presumably making tea and toast. She wondered if they still had any jam in the fridge and made a mental note to check the food supply soon. Now they were all in and had no cases - so Sherlock would be eating more often, not that he would eat much still - they would need to find food in the cupboards at some point; probably soon too by the sounds of the multiple cupboards opening and closing.

Taking a quick shower, she put her hair up in a sloppy pony tail and dressed in her usual attire, complete with steel toe capped boots, ring, necklace and bandana. It was a rare day that she wore anything different, the bandana adding the only colour to the outfit apart from the odd different coloured shirt that came out of hiding every now and then.

Jogging up the stairs, she went to the living room to find John in his usual seat, a cup of tea on the table and a plate of buttered toast in front of him, the morning paper propped up for him to read. _So predictable_, she thought fondly. "I'll do a shop some time then, shall I?"

John looked up from his reading. "What?"She chuckled, going through to the kitchen to make her own toast and get a glass of orange juice. "We're out of jam. I'll get some soon." She replied while buttering her own slice of toast.

"No rush." Was the reply she got from the living room. When she went to sit with John, he put his paper down and gave her a look. She just raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the inevitable question he wanted to ask. "What's happened?"

She knew what he was going on about. "Oh, he's just been ignoring me for a few days."

"That's … unusual." Replied John, knowing that his friend had a habit of not speaking for several days at a time, but he always answered eventually if asked a direct question. _Something bad happened… _"Why?"

"…Because I tricked him. Nothing too big." She shrugged it off, but knew that it was a big thing. This was confirmed by John's eyebrows shooting up as high as they would go, his eyes widening to dangerous levels, almost dropping the slice of toast he had just picked up.

"You tricked him?" He asked, wondering if he heard her right. "_Sherlock Holmes?_ You're sure?"

She just smiled slightly, trying not to laugh. "Yeah…""_How?" _He asked, face not changing still.

"Well…" She started, not quite sure of herself now she had to tell him what she had done. "I got the pen drive with the Bruce-Partington plans… and switched it and gave him the other one." She chewed her lip for a second while John just stared, eyes slightly wider than before - if that were even possible. "Then gave the real one to Mycroft."

It took John a second or two to realise what she had said. "How did he not…?"

"I don't know." She said, shaking her head slightly. "I thought he would..."

They sat in silence for a while, thinking about the past few days. After a few minutes, Sherlock came down and threw himself on the sofa in his thinking position, but both his flatmates could see he was bored; he had finished checking his experiments and couldn't be bothered to think up anymore for now, and he still didn't have a case!

It was an hour later, when Rose and John were on their respective laptops, Sherlock still sulking on the sofa, when there was a ringing through the silent flat.

Rose frowned; barely anyone ever called her, everyone she knew preferred to text. Looking at the screen however - as Sherlock had complained that she could never know who was calling and she should always look at the screen - she smiled. It was Lestrade.

"Hello stranger." She answered, knowing that he would have something for them to do; if Sherlock didn't find it too boring of course.

"_Hey, Rose." _He greeted. He had started calling her instead of Sherlock after a gap of them working together mainly because Sherlock was a pain to work with and she was far more friendly than the Consulting Detective. _"Listen, we've got a… weird one and we could use a bit of help to be honest…"_

She chuckled at his awkward tone. He always seemed to not like asking for their help. "Don't worry, we're all bored out of our minds anyway." At her words, Sherlock looked over hopefully and John looked up, wondering what was going on now.

"_Alright." _He sounded quite relieved. _"Go down to St Bart's morgue, I'll meet you there."_

"Grabbing our coats now. See you soon." She replied, standing from her chair and motioning for the guys to get up as well as she spoke. Sherlock begrudgingly did, but John stayed seated. Hanging up, she pulled her own coat on and spoke to Sherlock instead. "Lestrade's got a case. He's gonna meet us at the morgue."

"Finally…" He muttered in reply, pulling on his scarf over his coat and taking out his gloves. "You coming, John?"

John just looked between them for a moment before breaking out in a surprisingly childish smirk for the good doctor. "You think I'm going to let you two go off on your own again after the last time I left? Fat chance!"

Rose just smirked as John shot up and grabbed his coat, Sherlock giving him a faint smile and the three of them were once again off down the stairs and getting in a cab, heading to St Bart's.

Rose was stood next to Lestrade in the morgue, watching as John and Sherlock worked; John going over the medical aspects of the blond body, Sherlock looking at the little details.

Sherlock broke the silence. "Do people actually read your blog?"

"Where do you think our clients come from?" John answered absentmindedly.

Sherlock didn't miss a beat though. "I have a website."

Again, neither did John, Rose just watching the verbal tennis between the two men, wondering if was going to end badly. "…In which you innumerate two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash." Sherlock looked up at his words, distracted from his work then. "Nobody's reading your website." The pair of them stood up and Sherlock gave John a blank look. Rose thought it would be better if she interrupted them before anything serious could start.

"Right then!" She said loudly, Lestrade jumping slightly, having almost forgotten she was there. "Dyed blond hair. Have we got a cause of death?"

"Nothing obvious." John answered, looking over the body once more pointing out his words to them. "Except from these speckles, whatever they are."

Before he had finished however, Sherlock was striding from the room, leaving the three of them looking to each other, wondering what to do. Rose just sighed and followed him, John not far behind, the pair of them familiar with the way they all worked together. Lestrade just followed behind them all, wondering what was going on.

A few days later, the case was closed and it was morning when John was sat in his chair, writing up the blond woman's case. He had entitled it "_The Speckled Blond_" thinking that it was an appropriate title. Apparently Sherlock disagreed.

Walking through the living room, toast in one hand, paper in the other, Rose watching absently, he passed John and went back for another look at the screen, frowning as he did so, speaking around his toast. "Oh, for god's sake. _The Speckled Blond_?"

He gave John a look and carried on walking. John however looked to Rose, frowning slightly. She just smiled at him. "It's fine. Ignore him." John just nodded and started typing again.

Later on that day, when they were all dressed and appropriate for possible clients, the door bell rang. Starting their usual routine, John put down his book, Sherlock started pacing and Rose went to get the door. When she came back she had two young girls following her, about eight and five years old. They squeezed together into the one chair, even though Rose had offered to get them another one.

"What's the matter then, girls?" Rose started kindly, not wanting Sherlock to scare them. Genius though he may be, subtlety wasn't his strong point in these situations and children were even less of his forte.

"They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead." Said the younger of the two. "Is that 'cause he gone to heaven?"

Rose felt sorry for the two girls but before she could answer them, Sherlock did. "People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special room and burned."

Rose felt her eyes go wide and her face go pale. She could barely form a thought through the shock of what he'd just said. The girls looked at each other and Rose came to her senses enough to say, loudly and slightly outrageously, voice unusually high pitched, "Sherlock!"

John was a little better for it and ignored his two friends, one of which looked so shocked he doubted she would get out of it any time soon, the other just looked as though he had been woken up suddenly from a deep sleep and didn't quite know where he was; he didn't have a clue what he had done wrong this time.

The doctor turned to the two girls who didn't seem to know whether to run or just sit and cry and spoke softly to them. "Is your mummy waiting outside for you, girls?" The older one nodded, putting an arm around her little sister. "Okay. Shall we go and see her, then she can take you home, yeah?"

As the girls nodded, John took them downstairs and back to their mother. When he came back, Sherlock was sat on the sofa and Rose was still looking at him in the same, disbelieving manner.

It was a full minute late when Rose actually spoke. "Sherlock… you can't just say that to kids!"

Sherlock didn't move other than to reply with, "It's the truth. They have to learn it at some point."

Rose opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to thing of some form of argument to his words. Finding the task a little too difficult, she turned to John. John saw this coming though and just shrugged. Sherlock was right in a weird way; reality may be harsh, but it was reality none the less. They would have had to find out at some point in their lives.

Rose just let her shoulders drop and let out a huff, going to the kitchen to make drinks for them all, shaking her head as she went. John just smiled slightly, feeling - strangely - right at home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Regret**

The three of them followed Lestrade as he lead them down a dirt road towards a seemingly abandoned car, the boot open and several officers dotted around the site.

"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday." Lestrade was telling them. "Everyone dead."

"Suspected terrorist bomb." Sherlock commented. "We do watch the news."

John frowned though. "You said boring and turned it over."

Lestrade ignored the banter though. "Well, according to the flight details, this man," he indicated to a man folded into the boot, "was checked in on board. Inside his coat we've got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the plane. Even one of those little biscuits." He flicked through several evidence bags, each holding an item. He uncovered another one. "Here's his passport, stamped in Bern Airport."

"So, this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday." Rose said, trying to figure out how this one could possibly work out.

"Instead he was found in the boot of a car in Suffolk." Lestrade said, trying to piece it together as well.

"Lucky escape." John chipped in. Rose just pulled a face; the man was still dead, either way.

She instead addressed Sherlock, who had already started examining the body and the space it was in, magnifying glass in hand. "Any ideas yet, Sherlock?" She sounded bored but John knew it was put on. It was just one of her little habits when they were at a crime scene.

"Eight so far." He told them, moving around and squinting, mind practically producing steam from the speed at which it was working. "Okay, four ideas." He looked through the evidence bags, examining their contents too. Then he looked to the sky at the sound of an aeroplane flying over them; a very relevant sound. "Hmmm… maybe two ideas."

Back at the flat, the trio of flatmates were in their usual places when Rose look up suddenly at a loud complaint from Sherlock - obviously, John never complained about anything. She then frowned, trying to remember when John had actually complained since he came back from Harry's. Loud complaining brought her out of her thoughts though, rather than helping to speed them along.

"No! No, no, no." Sherlock was telling John. Rose smiled at his appearance trying not to laugh. He had on a large thick coat, thick gloves and a large pair of goggles. In one hand he had an unlit blow torch and in the other, a glass beaker of mysterious liquid; one of the many that Sherlock kept in the kitchen that Rose and John had both learned to just ignore. Asking questions only caused more confusion to them. "Don't mention the unsolved ones!"

John just gave him a look, completely ignoring the existence of the strange liquid. "People want to know you're human."

Rose chocked on her tea slightly but the men ignored her, as always. Sherlock just seemed puzzled. "Why?"

"Because they're interested." John shot back at him.

"No they're not." He replied as though it were obvious. Then he changed his mind. "Why are they?"

John just smiled. "Look at that." He pointed to the screen. "One thousand, eight hundred and ninety five."Sherlock was even more confused, as was Rose now. "Sorry, what?"

"I reset that counter last night." John explained. "This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours!" He seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Nice one!" Rose complimented him; she hadn't realised his blog was so popular.

"This is your living Sherlock." John continued. "Not two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash." He carried on typing, happy that he had won that round.

Sherlock just turned a cold glare an a somewhat innocent Rose. She was used to it by now though. "Two hundred and forty three." He corrected, lighting the blow torch as he made his way back to the kitchen.

Rose just chuckled slightly, shouting out just before the kitchen door closed loudly. "Don't burn the kitchen down, Sherlock!" Over John's typing she heard the good doctor give his own little chuckle at their slightly insane friend.

Two days later, after Sherlock had successfully not burned down the kitchen - though he had burned the toaster to a crisp, just the toaster, nothing else - and the three of them had just left a body behind at a crime scene, making their way out of the building when Sherlock spoke up.

"So, what's this one?" He asked John, referring to the man's blog. "_Belly Button Murders?"_

Rose thought she'd chip in with a silly one, just to annoy Sherlock a bit. "_The Navel Treatment_?" Sherlock just scoffed and Rose smirked.

Turning a dark corner, they met up with Lestrade who walked with them towards the exit. "There's a lot of press outside guys." He informed them, sounding impressed.

Sherlock seemed to think he had a better idea of the situation though. "Well, they wont be interested in us."

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon." Lestrade told him, still walking briskly. "A couple of them specifically wanted photos of you three.""For god's sake…" Sherlock said as they passed a lit room. Ducking inside, he came back with three hats for them, handing a trilby to Rose and a flat cap to John, keeping the deer stalker for himself.

Rose dropped the hat on a shelf as they passed in favour of putting her hood up, covering most of her face.

"Cover your face John." Sherlock told him, John just sighing and pushing the hat on. "Walk fast."

"Still, good for the public image, a big case like this." Lestrade said, trying to think positive about it all.

The exit was insight and Rose pulled her hood down a little more, trying to hide better. She could hear the clicking of the cameras, the shouts of the reporters and the overall chaos that awaited them outside the door.

"I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image." Sherlock replied, putting his own hat on his head, pulling his collar up to hide more of his face.

"Oh, you're going to regret those hats." Rose chuckled as they pushed through the doors, the reporters shouting questions that they ignored, as well as the flashes of the cameras.

After they had solved the case about the belly button murders or whatever John was going to call it when he wrote it up, the three of them had gotten in at four in the morning. The men, being tired - even Sherlock, for once - had just gone to bed, but Rose had decided to make a very sugary drink and just wait for the sun to show up in a couple of hours. She took this time to check her emails and her Facebook. After an hour and a half of this though, she was bored and decided to clean up a bit.

She cleaned the kitchen first, clearing out the fridge of its bad food - ignoring the tray at the bottom - and wiping down the counters and the table before doing all the dishes and cleaning the oven and grill before cleaning the sink to get rid of all the muck that it had collected from her cleaning. She wanted to avoid the living room until the guys were awake so she went down to her own room and had a shower, getting dressed for the day in her usual black uniform and jewellery, her steel toe caps on her feet, just like any other day, despite having just finished up a case. After tidying her room up a bit, she went to tidy the living room. Picking up the mugs laying about, she also noted the couple of plates scattered around the room. The living room was by far the worst room and it was precisely why she had put it off for so long.

Throwing herself on the sofa, she thought she may regret the lack of sleep and decided to check the time. Half seven. The guys should be up soon. _Well, Sherlock would be_, she corrected herself. John could happily sleep all day, but Sherlock would always be up before nine at the latest.

Sighing, she thought once more about the kitchen, more specifically, the fridge. And the large amount of space in it after she had cleared it out.

Deciding to do a quick pop down to the 24-hour shop down the road, she grabbed her coat and a wad of money and made her way downstairs.

Forty minutes later, Rose let herself back into the flat and up to the kitchen where she put the shopping on the side. Putting away the dry food first - dealing with the ever suspicious fridge last - she noticed the sounds of John moving around his room, and Sherlock doing the same in his own. Flicking the kettle on for them all, she turned to the rest of the shopping.

Putting away the milk and the rest of the shopping, Rose's curiosity got the better of her and she looked in Sherlock's separate draw in the cold box. They had agreed early on in the flat sharing that Sherlock could have space in the fridge, but away from the food. So he got the little draw at the bottom of the space. Pulling out a bag, she saw large nails on bloodied lumps, the occasional knuckle standing out from the mass of fleshy mess.

"Thumbs…" She said to herself. "Why would he even…?" But she didn't even bother finishing her train of thought as she put the bag down again, deciding she'd had enough for the day.

Closing the fridge door and turning around she found a rather large and stuttering man who seemed quite out of breath standing right in front of her. "The door…" He started. "The door was…" but that was all he got out before he fell forward, his face hitting the floor with less of a thud than his stomach did. He didn't move after that and Rose concluded that he had probably passed out.

Sighing, she stepped forward and around the limp body on the kitchen floor and leaned out into the hall way. "Guys! We've got another one!" She heard a sudden lack of sound then a lot of bustle. She thought for a minute, then shouted out, "John! May need your expertise too!" She heard John move a little quicker in his room.

Sighing, she went back to the living room, setting out a chair for the man and sat on the sofa waiting for the men to come down.

As Sherlock came down the stairs at a leisurely pace, John rushed past him on the landing, coming to the living room before the consulting detective. Rose just pointed into the kitchen and John frowned, going to see what was happening. On finding the body, he shot forward, turning the man over - with a bit of a struggle - and checked for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded to gently slap the man awake. He stood up as the man came round.

"Hello, I'm John." He said, offering a hand to help the man up. He took it gratefully and the good doctor helped him over to a waiting chair. Rose sat on the sofa and Sherlock paced in from of the chair. "Just relax and start when you're ready, okay?" The man nodded and took a couple of breaths.

Sherlock got impatient however and sighed loudly. "Come on! Tell us from the start. Don't be boring."


	5. Chapter 5

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Mute Button**

Half an hour later, the Detective Inspector on the scene of the crime paused in his wonderings, slipping his phone out of his pocket to answer the ringing devise. "Carter."

"_Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" _A voice said on the other line.

Thinking it might have something to do with the case, the man listened carefully. "Who?"

"_Well, you're about to meet him now." _The person said. "_Listen, this is your case. Its entirely up to you. This is just friendly advise… but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say… And as far as possible, try not to punch him."_ The man on the other end hung up and Carter frowned, wondering what the call was all about.

Just as he put his phone away, a car pulled up on the side of the road, an officer going to talk to who ever was in the back seat. Nodding and looking a little uncertain, the officer went up to Carter, speaking as he went. "Sir, this gentlemen says he needs to speak to you…"

"Yes, I know." Carter replied, cutting him off slightly, now expecting to know the identity of the man in the back of the car. "Sherlock Holmes!"

As he approached the car, a short, blond man got out of the closest side, a slightly shorter, dark haired woman getting out of the other side. The man spoke first though as the woman made her way around the car, a very dark blue laptop tucked under her arm. "No, I'm not Mr Holmes I'm afraid." He smiled, offering his hand. "John Watson." Carter just shook his hand, frowning to the woman, who just smiled at him.

"Rose Spencer." She offered her own hand and he was a little surprised by her firm handshake. "We're here on behalf on Sherlock Holmes."

John spoke again before the slightly confused DI could however. "Are you set up for WiFi?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Companions**

A further ten minutes later - after the laptop had decided to play up a little - they were connected to Sherlock's own laptop back at the flat.

"You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating." John said to the folding devise.

Rose just shrugged and looked to her doctor friend. "I've been in more humiliating situations than this." John just turned his head back to the laptop, trying not to think of what could be more humiliating than having your friend solve a crime through a laptop; through his own sheer laziness.

Sherlock appeared on the screen then, looking worse than John had first thought he would. He was only wearing a bed sheet by the looks of things. John just threw Rose a look, to which she just shrugged, face still saying, _yeah, still worse_. Sherlock however was saying something different; that was after he had yawned largely and grabbed a mug off the side. "_'S ok, I'm fine. Now…"_ He picked up his laptop and made his way to the living room. _"…show me to the stream."_

John just sighed, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn't mean for you…" He muttered. Rose rolled her eyes though and picked up the laptop, looking around for the best place to view the stream from.

"_Look, this is a six." _Sherlock told them. Rose thought she heard something in the background, put when Sherlock didn't react, she ignored it. _"There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed." _Rose held up the laptop, trying to get a good view for her boss. _"Now go back_." She heard, so she took a step back. _"Show me the grass." _Rose crouched down.

"When did we agree that?" Asked John, frowning out to the landscape.

"_We agreed it yesterday…" _He said absently. "_Stop! Closer_."

John appeared on Sherlock's screen then, instead of the ground he had wanted. "I wasn't even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin!""And I was out for most of the day, checking up on Joe and Zach. They're being little bastards again…" She muttered, throwing in her two cents to the conversation, complaining at the antics that her brothers had gotten up to. And they thought she had a bad life; at least her time was spent productively!

"_Well, it's hardly my fault neither of you were listening!" _Sherlock retorted, looking as though it was actually their fault. Rose just lightly glared at the screen, but it soon turned into a frown; she was sure she heard a noise on the other end again. This time Sherlock turned away from them, shouting toward their front door. "_Shut up!"_

Rose sighed. "Sherlock, answer the door."

The Consulting Detective ignored her though and John had started to frown again, speaking to his crazy friend once more. "Do you just carry on talking while we're away?"

This got a response out of the insane genius_. "I don't know. How often are you away? Now, show me the car that backfired."_

"How can you not notice when we're gone? _You?" _Rose asked, lifting the laptop above her head, pointing it at the road where the car was.

"_That's the one that made the noise, yes?" _He asked instead, once again ignoring her.

Carter just watched the whole thing going on, wondering when people became so obnoxious as to ignore the young woman asking reasonable questions and running around being a set of eyes for you. _Probably the same time they became so unprofessional_, he thought dryly.

"Yep." She answered Sherlock, starting to make her way back up to the road again.

John followed her and the laptop, leaning over her shoulder to get his say in. "If you're thinking gun shot, there wasn't one. He wasn't shot. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head by a blunt instrument."

"Which then magically disappeared, along with the killer." Rose finished. "It's got to be an eight, at least." Sherlock just pulled a face at her.

Carter spoke up then. "You've got two minutes, they want to know more about the driver."

Sherlock disagreed though, waving his hand dismissively at the camera giving them the feed. "_Oh, forget him. He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"_

Carter pushed Rose slightly then, getting closer to the camera. "_I_ think he's a suspect."

Sherlock just leaned forward. "_Pass me over_." He said into the camera, appearing to be annoyed, but Rose knew it was just a façade.

"Alright, but there is a mute button, and I will use it!" She warned. "I mean it Sherlock. No funny business."

Sherlock saw the laptop change hands and started his usual fast explanation of why the man was wrong and why he was right. "_Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?"_

He was being sarcastic again and Rose could tell Carter was loosing his patience. "Sherlock…"

Carter was sure though. "He's trying to be clever. It's over confidence!"

Sherlock just hung his head before looking back up again, a look of obviousness on his sharp features. "_Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy and you think he's an audacious criminal master mind?" Sherlock turned around, showing them that the man in question was sitting right behind him. "Don't worry, this is just stupid._" Rose brought her hand up to her face, burying said face into the palm of her hand.

"_What did you say?" _The man in the background started. "_Heart what?"_

Sherlock had turned back to them though and left the man worrying in the background. "_Go to the stream." _He instructed them.

"What's in the stream?" Carter asked, but Rose and John both knew he wouldn't get an answer.

"_Go and see!" _Came the predicted response.

Carter handed the laptop over to Rose again with a sour face and she watched the screen, hearing other voices in the background. _"Sherlock! You weren't answering your door bell!"_ It sounded like Mrs Hudson.

Then new voices came, muttering something about clothes. Sherlock was looking off screen at the new people. _"Who the hell are you?"_

There was a "_Sorry_" somewhere in what the stranger said, as well as a _"You're coming with us_." That was moments before Rose saw a dark hand come towards the camera on Sherlock's laptop, the hand in question closing the device, cutting off the feed. The screen had gone blank.

"Sherlock? What's going on…?" Rose tried asking, but it was too late, the feed had cut off before she had even finished.

John saw that she had lost the man and came up to walk next to her. "What's the matter?"

"Not a clue. Someone just closed his laptop." She looked over to him. "And I don't think it was Mrs Hudson."

John just frowned, pulling out his phone. "I'll call him." Rose waited but after a while, John frowned, pulling the phone away from his ear. "Not answering."

"He doesn't always answer his phone though..." Rose said, but she didn't sound too confident in her answer.

Just then the officer that they first met jogged up to them, a mobile at his ear. "Doctor Watson?"

"Yeah?" John replied, taking the laptop off Rose, trying to call up Sherlock again through the computer.

"It's for you." The officer said simply.

John held his hand out for the phone, eyes still on the laptop though. "Okay, thanks."

The officer seemed to have other ideas though. "Oh. No sir." Rose looked up now, wondering what was going on. "The helicopter."

"You're kidding me…" Rose muttered, eye widening at the sight on the helicopter parking on the grass.

John just blinked. Then blinked again. "What?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Sir**

Rose, though not many people knew it, was petrified of heights. Tall buildings she could handle, bridges she didn't like, but dealt with. She had always hated the idea of flying though.

So sitting next to a dumbstruck John, flying over the streets of London in a large, noisy box that seemed to be mainly made up of glass panels was the scariest thing she had done in a very long while. Her back was ramrod straight, hands gripping the bottom of her seat, knuckles white from the grip she had on the material and she tried to keep her eyes focused on the ceiling as much as she could. Passing clouds and blue sky didn't help any either. She wondered how long she would be able to go without throwing up or straight out panicking.

John sat in the helicopter and was looking down at the streets below, wondering why on earth they were currently in a helicopter. The laptop was under his hands, resting gently on his lap. He turned to Rose, about to make a comment on whether he was dreaming or not when he actually noticed her; she was white as a ghost, paler than usual - which for Rose, was quite an achievement - eyes wide and looking up, darting to the window every now and again. Every time they did, she would swallow and it looked like she would go even more rigid than she was already. John frowned, _something's wrong_.

"Hey," He called over as gently as he could while shouting to be heard. Her gaze snapped to him though, hearing his words. "You okay?"

Rose just nodded quickly and offered him a sort of grimace. _Meant to be a smile maybe?_ He wondered. He realised then, and mentally kicked himself for not realising earlier. Pressing his lips together, he took her hand and squeezed it tightly. When she looked back to him, a question in her eyes, he spoke. "Almost there." He offered her a small smile of reassurance to her fear and just continues looking to the city below, keeping his hand on hers. When he looked back a few seconds later, he notices she was a bit more relaxed, even if she was still looking to the ceiling of the helicopter.

After landing - Rose getting a bit of colouring to her cheeks in an embarrassed blush when they get out and John gives her hand another squeeze again before dropping it - they are shown through none other than Buckingham Palace by a well tailored man in a deep black suit, both of them looking around in wonder and feeling a little bit out of place in their regular dress.

They are shown to yet another large room where they are directed to another room, rather than taken. "You can wait just through there." The man says to them. They offer small smiles to him, John giving his thanks to the man.

Turning the corner to enter the room they were directed to, John and Rose stood next to each other. The first thing they saw was a pile of smart clothes, a pair of shiny shoes placed carefully on top of them. Then they saw the owner of the clothes and shoes. Sherlock was sat on the far side of one of the sofas, still wrapped in his bed sheet, the white material having been pulled up around his neck.

"Still not dressed?" Rose asked, somewhat exasperatedly. She knew he was being purposely difficult for who ever brought them all there.

On getting no reply from the man, John opened his arms slightly, giving Sherlock an expectant face. Sherlock just shrugged in response and John dropped his arms, walking over to take a seat on the other side of the sofa, looking through both large doorways before sitting, sharing the fancy furniture with the mad man.

When Rose didn't move, Sherlock just looked at her before smirking. "Come sit, Rose." He said, purposely patting the relatively spacious gap between himself and John.

Rose just glared at him. He was trying to annoy her again, as he usually was, but she would always try to get one over on him. Her glare wasn't doing any good though, only serving to make the smirk grow a little bit more. So, she sighed and went to shuffle past John to sit in between the two men, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded in her lap. The three of them faced the direction they were sitting, neither looking at each other. They were never this close usually and each of them felt a little awkward at the invasion of personal space. None of them would admit it though.

A weird thought occurred to Rose then and she debated even asking. In the end though, she just thought to get it over with. "Are you wearing any pants?"

Sherlock didn't even look at her as he answered immediately - a rare thing for her questions. "No."

"Right…" She replied, nodding slightly, feeling that little bit more awkward.

A few seconds passed before she heard the snorted chuckle to her right. Looking over to her friend, she found John trying to suppress a laugh. When their eyes met however, they both started laughing at the absurdity of it all. And just as usual, when he was with either of his flatmates, their laughter was contagious, and Sherlock even started laughing with them, his low toned laugh setting a nice bass to the sounds of his friends laughter.

And so the three of them sat, on a couch in Buckingham Palace, one wearing only a bed sheet, laughing merrily as they will.

As they sobered up, John took a breath. "In Buckingham Palace, right." He chuckled some more before clearing his throat. He couldn't resist his thoughts escaping though. "I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray…" Sherlock and Rose just chuckled some more while John shook his head. Clearing his throat once more, he tried again. "What are we doing here, Sherlock? Look, seriously, what?"

"I don't know." The man replied, still sliming.

"Here to see the Queen?" Rose suggested.

They heard muffled foot falls and it was then that Mycroft decided to make his entrance. Sherlock however found it somewhat amusing. "Oh, apparently yes." This sent the three of them into another round of laughing.

Mycroft was not amused however. Sighing slightly and looking at the three of them with a serious look on his face. Rose and John sobered up again at the look he gave them, but Sherlock was still content to grin at his older brother, relaxed in his surroundings. "For once, can't you three behave like grown-ups?"

"Well…" Rose started, giving the standing man a cheeky smirk, but John cut her off.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, Rose makes tea and he forgets his pants." The doctor said, jerking his head towards his friends. "I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Sherlock wasn't happy anymore though it seemed. "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

Mycroft just put his hands in his pocket. "What? The hiker and the backfire?" _Good case name_, thought John. "I glanced the police report. Bit obvious, surely."

"Transparent." Sherlock replied.

John frowned at this, but Rose knew that the case was over and her shoulders dropped slightly; now they'd have to look for a new case again.

"Time to move on then." Said the older Holmes. Bending down, he picked up Sherlock's clothes and held them out to his brother. On receiving a defiant look he sighed though. "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British Nation." His voice went stern then, a seemingly practiced trait. "Sherlock Holms, put your trousers on!"

"What for?" Sherlock asked, physically shrugging off the demanding words.

"Your client." Mycroft replied.

Sherlock stood then, holding the blanket around him as he did so. "And my client is..?"

"Illustrious." Said a new man who had just entered the room through the same doors John and Rose had come through earlier. "In the extreme." John stood up at his arrival and Rose thought she should follow suit. "And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous." The man's gaze caught the other suited man then, a smile crossing his aged features. "Mycroft!"

"Harry." Mycroft greeted, shaking the man's hand. "May I apologise for the state of my little brother."

"A full time occupation, I imagine." Replied Harry, ignoring the grumpy look on Sherlock's features. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello." Greeted John, shaking the man's hand, a proud look on his face. Rose smiled proudly in response to it, glad that he was proud of his past. "Yes."

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Harry complemented.

John seemed a little thrown at this however. "…Your employer?"

The man nodded happily. "Particularly enjoyed the one about the Aluminium Crutch."

"Thank you." John replied quietly, clearing his throat and giving Sherlock a subtle look of, _see? People do like my blog._

However, when he looked over, Harry's attention was then caught by Rose who blushed slightly at being noticed. "Ah, and you must be Miss Rose Spencer."

Rose blushed a little more. "That I am, sir." She offered her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it, just as most high class men she met did. She had gotten used to it now though, with all the high end cases they had worked on and wasn't so agitated by it. She still blushed though, taking back her hand when she could, folding both behind her back. Harry just smiled though. "I've heard a lot about you, Miss Spencer."

She just chuckled slightly, mostly out of nerves; her past - and even present - were hardly considered good when actually discussed with people. "Oh, nothing too awful, I hope." She subtly glanced at Mycroft, somehow feeling he was to blame for anything the man might know about her, but on the brief inspection, she found no signs of guilt on the man. _Doesn't mean much with a Holmes though_, she thought to herself.

Harry just chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. She didn't really trust it, if she was honest with herself, but he did seem a friendly enough person. "Oh, don't worry on that front, Miss Spencer." Moving on down the line of guests he was greeting, Harry came upon Sherlock, walking around the table in the middle of them all to stand in front of him. "And Mr Holmes, the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

Sherlock just kept a frosty glare on his face. "Take the precaution of a good coat and short friends." He said, giving and obvious look to John and Rose, obviously taking a cheap shot at the pair of them. They were used to it though and didn't mind. Turning to his brother, Sherlock started to make his exit. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work." He turned briefly to Harry. "Good morning." With that, he turned on his heel and started walking out of the room, sheet dragging slightly behind him. This soon became a problem though, one Mycroft took full advantage of.

As he got a few feet away from them, Mycroft stepped forward, carefully placing a shiny shoe on the white sheet, not letting it move. This in turn caused the sheet to fall from Sherlock, exposing the mans bare back and chest - though they couldn't see the front - as well as a brief flash of his backside, proving that the Consulting Detective did indeed have no pants on. Before anymore was exposed though, Sherlock quickly halted his walking and wrapped what he had left of the sheet around his wait, keeping his head up, trying not to loose too much dignity in the situation.

Rose's eyes widened at the sight she got before she managed to look to the ceiling and then behind her, trying to fight the blush creeping up her face again at seeing her friend like that. _Not bad though_, a little voice said. A bigger stronger voice soon stamped it out though with a mentally loud and rather defiant, _no! _She decided it was safe to take a small glance and saw that he was covered up again; mostly.

John was a little more used to this sort of thing and was a doctor after all, but he still turned his head slightly before seeing that his friend had covered up.

"This is a matter of national importance, grow up!" Mycroft said, tone lower and slightly rougher than usual. He was starting to get annoyed with his little brother and his careless ways.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock snapped at him.

"Or what?" Mycroft snapped back, the pair of them sounding like squabbling siblings.

"Or I'll just walk away!" Sherlock threatened and they all knew what that meant.

Rose tried to step in then, as usual. "Sherlock, don't you even dare!" She warned, but as usual, everyone ignored her.

Mycroft smirked slightly, wondering if Sherlock really would. "I'll let you."

John then decided to step in. "Boys, please. Not here." He told them. Mycroft composed himself a little more then, remembering his position and where he was. Rose sometimes envied how people would actually listen to John's warnings.

Sherlock however seemed to be loosing his composure that little bit more though. "Who is my client?" He ground out through gritted teeth, and undercurrent of a child having a tantrum in the tone he used.

Mycroft got an obvious look on his features then. "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction." He told his little brother, remembering the lessons he had taught him in the same fashion so many years ago. "You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for god's sake!" His voice rose slightly in volume, anger, annoyance and overall tone before he realised what he was doing and took a short breath, looking around at the others before carrying on in a rather loud whisper. "Put your clothes on!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Affairs**

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was sat next to Rose again - fully dressed this time - while Mycroft and Harry sat on the sofa opposite them.

Mycroft poured some tea into fine china cups for them all. "I'll be mother." He said, trying to break the ice around them all.

Sherlock wasn't having it though, staring into space in apparent remembrance. "There is our whole childhood in a nutshell."

Everyone looked at him for a second - Mycroft glaring at him with the dirtiest look Rose had seen in a long time - before deciding to ignore the comment and move on; it wasn't going to be an easy meeting as it stood at the moment.

Harry started it all off then. "My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and possibly criminal nature." Mycroft continued. "And in this hour of need, _dear brother_, your name has arisen."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "You have a police force, of sorts. Even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they Mr Holmes?" Harry asked.

Sherlock pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm… Not to date anyone with their own navy." Rose and John just smiled slightly, knowing that if nothing else, the day would be interesting.

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust." Mycroft explained.

"And you don't trust your own secret service?" John asked.

"Naturally not." Mycroft replied, as though it were obvious. "They all spy on people for money." Rose just nodded in understanding and both her and John were reminded of the offers they received from Mycroft himself.

"I do think we have a time table." Harry said.

"Yes, of course." Mycroft replied, shifting in his seat slightly. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at his brother's compliance with the other man. Mycroft opened a briefcase, pulling out a photograph. "What do you know about this woman?" He asked, handing it over to Sherlock, who sat up to take it.

"Nothing what so ever." He replied, looking at the photo of the sharp featured woman, dark hair tied up elegantly and make-up painting her face in delicate colours, enhancing her features.

"Then you should be paying more attention." Mycroft told him. "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants; separately." Rose just raised a pair of eyebrows at the interesting information, always one for gossip while glancing over to the photos every time Sherlock changed one of them over. John sipped his tea but lowered his cup to see the photo's better.

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia." Sherlock told him. "Who is she?"

"Irene Adler." Mycroft informed them. "Professionally known as The Woman."

The wording caught Rose's attention though. "Professionally?"

Mycroft looked over to her then, wondering how much she knew of this sort of world. _She is still quite young after all, _he thought. "There are many names for what she does. She prefers Dominatrix." He saw a look of understanding cross her face.

"Dominatrix…" Sherlock muttered, still studying the images.

"Don't be alarmed." Mycroft smiled at his brother. "It's to do with sex."

Sherlock just looked up sharply then, trying to defend himself slightly. "Sex doesn't alarm me." Rose felt her eyebrows raise slightly at his choice of wording.

But Mycroft just let out a slight, silent laugh, almost unnoticeable but still noticeably mocking. "How would you know?"

At the rhetorical question and slight glares and looks shared between the two brothers, Rose felt her eyebrows raise a little bit more. _Surely not…? _She thought. It wasn't even like he was unattractive! The sheet incident had been clear proof of that little fact. She had worked and lived with the man several months now and had seen many girls try to flirt with him, many of them very pretty; she had seen the look's John sometimes gave to the darker haired man.

She even remembered when the madman had tried flirting - very badly, at that - with women to try and get something, information or something of the sort. But in all her time she had never seen him with a woman; apart from herself, but that didn't count. Even when they were undercover he was awkward. _Well, I never... _She thought, taking a sip of tea. _Learn something new everyday!_

She was brought out of her thoughts by Mycroft speaking again, looking at her this time. "She provides… shall we say, _recreational scolding_, for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." Rose just took another sip of her tea, pushing away the memories of some of her more adventurous times a few years ago. She wondered briefly if anything like that would be in her folder and felt a slight blush creep up her skin at the thought. Mycroft took out a large brown envelope while she fought her blush, handing it over to Sherlock. "These are from her website."

Taking the envelope off of his brother, Sherlock took out the photographs and flicked through them, each a little more provocative than the last, some with riding crops, others with rope. Some had writing on them, others just had a picture of The Woman and not much - though very much see through - lace clothing.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." Sherlock said, starting to put the pieces together.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes." Harry said, a little bit surprised.

"Hardly a difficult deduction." Sherlock replied. "Photographs of whom?"

Harry just got a sort of frozen look on his face. "A person of significance to my employer." He settled for. "We prefer not to say anymore at this time."

Sherlock put the photos on the table, looking between the two suited men opposite them. John was a little stumped though. "You can't tell us anything?"

Mycroft took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I can tell you it's a young person. A young, female person."

John still looked confused and Rose had the idea that this didn't really help at all but Sherlock just smiled slightly, obviously having some idea to who the "young female person" might be. "How many photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently." Mycroft smiled, obviously not really liking the topic of discussion but he would rather just get it over with, rather than dance around the subject and be awkward about it.

"And Miss Adler and this... _young female person _appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock followed up.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising positions." Sherlock said.

"An imaginative range, we are assured." Mycroft replied, the pair of them talking as though they were discussing a book rather than a case.

Seeing that they were nearly done, Rose leaned over slightly, still not looking away from the two men in front of her. "John, you may want to put that cup back in it's saucer now." She advised quietly, breaking the doctor out of his slightly shocked state as he did what he was told.

"Can you help us, Mr Holmes?" Asked Harry.

"How?" Retorted Sherlock.

"You take the case." Replied Harry, as though it were obvious.

"What case?" Sherlock asked. "Pay her; now and in full. This Miss Adler remarks in her master hood. Know when you are beaten." He told them, turning to pick up his jacket.

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft told them, catching their attention once more. "She got in touch, informed us that the photographs existed, even told us that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

Sherlock watched his brother carefully as he spoke, the pieces fitting even better than before, a smile creeping onto his face. "Ohh… a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now, that is a Dominatrix." Rose could see the excitement working it's way through his system once more; he had something interesting to do. "Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Not really, Sherlock." Rose muttered, trying to keep him in line again.

"Hm, where is she?" Sherlock asked, getting up from his seat and putting his jacket on.

"Um, in London, currently." Mycroft answered, a little thrown off by his brothers sudden change in demeanour. "She's staying -"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day." Sherlock instructed them, Rose and John standing up and following after him.

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked. Rose smirked though, knowing that he underestimated them; especially Sherlock.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs." Sherlock replied.

Harry looked impressed and worried at the same time. "I can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

"Oh, he is." Rose chipped in, smirk still in place and pride in her tone for the genius she worked with.

"I'll need some equipment, of course." Sherlock said, looking to Mycroft.

"Anything you require, I'll have it sent over." Mycroft assured him, but he was cut off before he could finish, though it didn't stop him.

"Can I have a box of matches?" He asked of Harry. John and Rose frowned, looking to each other; they both knew Rose always had a lighter. They kept quiet though, wanting to know what he was up to.

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked.

Mycroft had other ideas however and was about to point out the little fact of Rose's smoking. "Sherlock, I think you'll find-"

Sherlock cut him of though, still talking to Harry and holding out his hand. "Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do."

"I don't smoke." Harry told him, face wary.

Sherlock was patient with him though; as patient as Sherlock gets anyway. "No, I know you don't but your employer does."

John frowned, trying to work out who it could be. Harry stepped forward though, taking out a lighter and handing it over to the Consulting Detective. "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes."

"I'm not the common wealth." Sherlock said, a slight tone of sarcasm to him voice, taking the lighter and turning to leave.

A second passed all round and that was when John decided they should also leave, less they get lost on the way and probably loose Sherlock somehow. "And that's as modest as he gets." He smiled at each man. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, sir." Rose smiled at Harry before turning to give Mycroft a half smile. "See you another time, Mr Holmes."

"Soon, my dear." He replied with a smile of his own, though she could see he was tired.

Sherlock had gotten bored of the civil ways of interaction and as he left through the doors shouted in a very common and chav-like way, "Laters!"

Rose just chewed her lips for a second before growling out a low warning of, "_Sherlock!"_


	9. Chapter 9

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Fights**

Sitting in the back of a cab, on the way back home, John broke the comfortable silence that had fallen around them.

"Okay…" He started, the usual questions in his mind. "The smoking. How did you know?" Rose just looked to Sherlock, also wondering on the answer.

"The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but you don't observe." Sherlock told them.

Rose wracked her brains but couldn't find anything that indicated any smokers. "See what?"

The genius put his hand in his coat and pulled something out. "The ashtray."

John just chuckled, as did Rose, remembering the doctor's comment earlier about stealing an ashtray. Sherlock just laughed with them, throwing the ashtray a little in the air so it span before he caught it again, slipping it back into the large, dark coat.

Back in 221B, Rose brought in a cup of tea for John, sipping from a can of coke as she walked. Sherlock had refused the offer of coffee. Taking the hot drink up to Sherlock's room, she saw John sat on the man's bed and heard the suspicious sounds of things being thrown about close by.

"Thanks Rose." John said taking the drink off her as she sat next to him. He took a sip and a few seconds later, he spoke again. Louder this time, so to be heard by the hidden man. "What are you doing?"

"Going into battle, John! I need the right armour!" Sherlock shouted back to them before standing out so they could see. He was wearing his usual black trousers but over his shirt he wore a large high visibility jacket, the bright yellow standing out in the rather dark space. He took a look down at himself, turning a sleeve over before declaring, "No!" and going back to where he was before.

Once again, sitting in the back of a cab, Rose spoke up, putting her thoughts into words. "So, what's the plan?"

"We know her address." Sherlock stated, receiving a sigh from Rose. _This will not end well_, she thought.

John was a little confused though. "We just ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly." Sherlock said before raising his voice to speak to the cabbie. "Just here please."

"You didn't even change your clothes." John told him, wondering about the wasted time.

Sherlock just replied, "Then it's time to add a splash of colour."

Getting out of the cab, Rose paying the fare, Sherlock lead them a little ways into a deserted and quite narrow street, taking off his scarf as he went. When he got to where he wanted to be, he turned a little, going back the way he came so John stopped in front of him and his back was to the way they had just come from. Rose stood in between them, wary of what Sherlock was now planning.

"Are we here?" John asked, looking around.

"Two streets away, but this will do." Sherlock replied, shifting around a little bit.

"For what?" John asked.

Sherlock just looked to Rose, wanting to teach her another lesson. "Punch me in the face."

She blanked at that, expecting something else - she didn't know what, but certainly not that. "Punch you?"

He frowned though. "Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear punch me in the face when you're speaking, but its usually sub context." She replied, still not quite sure of what he was saying.

"It's really simple and you'll have to punch someone at some point. Rather make sure you know you can now, when it doesn't really matter as much." Sherlock said, getting impatient. "Just make a fist and throw it. in the face."

"I'm not going to punch you in the face!" She said defiantly, not wanting to hurt him. _Deserves it though, _she thought, crossing her arms.

Sherlock just sighed in impatience, looking to John instead. John however was on Rose's side in this and shook his head, holding up his hands. "Oh, no! I'm not gonna punch you either."

"Oh, for god's sake!" Sherlock said before springing forward and punching John square in the jaw. John wasn't expecting that and neither was Rose, so the poor doctor fell to the floor.

"What the hell, Sherlock!" Rose shouted, shooting forward to help John up off the floor. As she did though, John looked over to his friend - who Rose saw was completely ready for what he knew was coming - and punched him in the face; hard.

"John!" Rose shouted, shocked by the pair of them. "What's wrong with you both?"

John had stepped back, shaking his now throbbing hand, trying to dispel the pain. As Sherlock stood back up again though, John turned around. "Thank you, that was-" Sherlock was about to compliment, but he didn't quite get it out as John leapt forward, tackling the man to the ground while punching him in the gut. Sherlock felt the air rush out of him and was a little shocked by it. _This isn't the plan_, he thought vaguely.

"John!" Rose shouted again, taking a step back to avoid getting caught in the street fight.

As Sherlock tried to get up again, pushing John away, he somehow managed to get into a head lock. A very good one as well as the Consulting Detective had quite a bit of trouble getting out of it; without hurting John. And despite the punch - that wasn't that hard - he didn't want to hurt his friend.

Rose saw the head lock and that John was possibly taking this a little to far. "John, come on. Enough now!"

Sherlock heard this and tried to talk to John too. "I think we're done now, John!"

John heard this. "You've got to remember, Sherlock. I was a soldier. I killed people."

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock shouted at him.

"I had my bad days!" John replied, shouting just as loudly.

Rose however had had enough of this and decided that it was time to intervene. Moving forward, she very carefully - but quickly - wrapped her arms around John's waist. The shock was enough for him to loosen his grip on Sherlock and she kicked her weight back, the pair of them flying back a good way, falling back onto the street, Rose landing on her back, just an inch away from her spine.

John had not been expecting a third party though and his army training kicked in. As they hit the floor, he rolled over - and incidentally off of Rose, having pinned her to the floor when they fell - and pulled back a fist, swinging forward.

He realised as he saw her eyes widen a fraction that his newest attacker was in fact Rose and not actually a real enemy. He was in a street, in London, with his two flat mates and friends. One of which he was moments away from punching in the face...

Rose felt rather than saw John move off her and was about to get up when she saw the fist flying towards her face. Automatically, she brought up her arms to shield her face, the hand at the end of the forefront arm catching Johns fist in her palm, her arms absorbing the high impact.

For a second they both froze, realising what had happened. Sherlock stood to the side, eyes wide at John's fighting instinct and Rose's automatic defence.

"Nice block." Sherlock said, breaking the silence that had fallen around them again, though this time it was far from comfortable. His words snapped Rose and John out of their state and Rose let his fist go, using her arms to push herself to her feet. She noted that when she put any pressure onto her hand - the one that had caught the punch in the first place - shooting pain ran up her arm. _Not good_, she thought, biting her lip in pain.

John got up and immediately started to apologise. "Rose, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't realise, I just… oh my god… "

She cut him off though, giving him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it, John. It was instinct."

"But I punched you!" He said, still looking horrified.

"Yeah, 'n' I blocked it." She saw he was still worried though. "Relax, no damage done." She paused for a second. "Except to Sherlock."

John looked to his other friend and saw the cut across his cheek. He pulled an unhappy face at the sight of it. "You deserved that, though."

Sherlock just grinned slightly as his doctor friend before bending down to pick up the scarf that he had dropped in the scuffle. "You've got a very good right hook."

John just gave a single, slightly breathless chuckle before looking back to Rose. He sighed. "Let me have a look at that hand."

She knew this was coming though and bit her tongue so as to not show any pain. She brought up her throbbing hand and turned it over, wiggling the fingers a little bit, pain shooting through the little limbs. "See? Fine." John went to take the hand in his though, but she pulled it back. "Its fine, John!" She told him fiercely.

John just sighed, _difficult woman! _"Tell me if it hurts, I'll give you something for it, okay?"

"It doesn't hurt." Rose replied, but she saw Sherlock raise an eyebrow behind John's back; he had seen her jaw clench tightly, her eyes water ever so slightly. He knew she was lying through he teeth and she knew that he did. She thought to change the subject then. "Are we going to carry on then or just stand here all day?"

"Down this way." Sherlock said, walking off down the street.

Rose followed after him, walking next to him as they went, John catching up a second after.

Sherlock handed his scarf to her. Frowning, she took it - in her left hand, he noticed - and looked up to him, seeing him still looking forward. "Thanks…"

He nodded, knowing she meant more than the scarf. "Put it on."

She did as she was told and noticed her hand was still throbbing, even at the slightest of movements. Taking her bandana from her left hand off, she put it on her right and tied it so the fabric supported the sore hand. At least this way, though the dull ache was always there, she wouldn't forget it was hurt and end up doing more damage to it.

She saw Sherlock take out a white piece of paper from his pocket and sighed, now understanding his lack of scarf. "Really? Again?"

He just smirked at her, hoping that things would go better than the last time he used this disguise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silence Is The New Sexy**

John and Rose stood down the road of the house while Sherlock walked up to the door and rung the bell. John looked confused and kept watching Rose but she gave nothing away, just smiling slightly as she watched the genius go to work.

"Hello?" Came a female reply on the other end of the communicator and Rose wondered if it was their woman; The Woman.

"Oh!" Sherlock started, sounding quite worried. "Sorry to disturb you, um…" John saw he looked quite worried and had the voice to match but the good doctor still didn't quite know what was going on as neither of his friend's had answered his questions; Rose just smirked when he looked to her for answers. "I've just been attacked, ummm….and um, I think they took my wallet and, ummm… my phone. Please could you help me?"

It was a good act but Rose knew Sherlock well enough to see right threw it, though John seemed to be having a bit of trouble getting his head around the façade. "Get ready John." She whispered to her friend, who nodded in return, still looking confused.

"I can phone the police, if you want." The woman offered, but Rose frowned; she didn't sound quite right. The young woman shrugged it off though.

"Thank you!" He sounded so relieved. "Thank you, could you, please? Would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you so much!" He put a white cloth to his cut check and added a sob just for his own bit of fun as the woman buzzed the lock on the door, letting them in.

_It actually worked_, thought John, still not sure what they just did but sure it was illegal somehow.

Walking in, Sherlock looked around, still jittery and playing the victim. John put an arm around Rose, who also now looked shaken at the supposed attack. "We were there, we saw it all happen." The woman just nodded at them, watching them in turn. Rose still didn't trust her; _something's not right._

Speaking up, Rose threw in her little bit of contribution. "It's okay, he's a doctor, he can help."

"Have you got a first aid kit?" John asked, playing his part well.

"In the kitchen." The woman replied, indicating to the living room. "Please."

"Oh, thank you." Sherlock said again, still holding his face a he went to sit down, Rose following after him as John went to follow the woman to the kitchen.

As Sherlock dropped the act for a second, Rose smirked at him and shook her head at his performance.

"What?" He mouthed to her.

"Way too over the top!" She whispered back, still smirking as he just frowned in thought. As he did, she turned her attention to the cream room, another thing that was a little over the top. Everything was cream or a milky coffee colour; far too bland for her tastes.

Having wandered over to examine a painting that sat on the wall behind the door, she wasn't in view when another female voice came from in the hall. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that you've been hurt." Clicking of heels could be heard now, but the woman was still out of Rose's line of sight. The young woman decided to stay hidden for now, knowing she would see the woman in a few moments when she walked into the room. "I don't think Kate caught your name."

"I-I-I'm so sorry." Sherlock stuttered, holding the cloth to his face again. "I'm…"

Rose looked up at his lack of words, wondering what on earth could stop Sherlock Holmes from speaking. The woman was still behind the door and Rose didn't want to interrupt them so stayed hidden and silent; one of her better tactics when wanting to know something.

Sherlock's shocked face was something she wished she could photograph though, mouth slightly agape, act dropped and quite still. _And speechless! This has to be either very good or very bad_, she thought.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" The woman said as she walked into the room. Rose could see why Sherlock was so shocked now; the woman wore nothing but makeup and heels. She hadn't spotted Rose yet though. "Well, there now." She said, walking over to a still stunned Sherlock and removing the little piece of white paper from his collar. "We're both de-frocked, Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"Miss Adler, I presume." The genius seemed to have found his voice again, and in Rose's opinion, kept his composure quite well.

She ignored his words though. "Oh, look at those cheek bones. I could cut myself slapping that face." She paused for a second, looking him in the eye. "Would you like me to try?" No sooner than the words left her mouth, the paper was between her teeth.

However the moment was broken by an unfortunate and unsuspecting John, who happened to walk in the room just then with a bowl of water and a small cloth. "Right then, this should do it…" The doctor stopped short though on seeing Sherlock in a bit of a compromising position with the naked woman, Rose still hidden.

Irene just looked up to see a shocked John, Paper still between her teeth as she caught Rose standing behind the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The young woman had the biggest smirk on her features and one eyebrow raised unusually high.

She was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

John just looked from Irene, to the bowl, and back, and to the bowl again before looking up for a third time frowning slightly. "I've missed something here, haven't I?"

Sherlock threw the man an obvious look while Miss Adler removed the paper and spoke once more. "Please. Sit down. If you'd like some tea I can call the maid."

"I had some at the palace." Sherlock said casually as the woman went to sit down in one of the comfy looking chairs, crossing her legs and folding her arms to hide herself from view.

"I know." Irene answered.

"Clearly." Sherlock shot back, neither of them breaking eye contact. Rose just kept grinning as the two of them tried to analyse the other.

After a few seconds of this though, John grew a little too uncomfortable. "I had tea too, at the palace. If anyone's interested."

"Probably not, John." Rose said quietly as she watched Sherlock.

The mad man was acting stranger than normal. He looked at Irene, frowned, looked to John then slowly looked to Irene again. _Surely he can't be having trouble… _Rose thought.

"You know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?" Irene asked him. When no reply came she carried on. "How ever hard you try, it's always a self portrait."

Sherlock just looked confused as he straightened his collar. "You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?"

Irene just smiled. "I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power." Rose had to give her credit for that one. "In your case it's yourself." She leant forward, still covering herself as Sherlock threw her a mild glare. "Oh, and somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too." She threw John a slight smirk.

John just laughed though it was obviously forced before looking back to her again, frown once again in place. "Could you put something on, please? Anything at all, umm, napkin-"

"John, rambling." Rose told him, trying to get him to quit while he could.

"Sorry." John said quickly in response.

"Why?" Irene asked though, still having fun with the doctor. "Are you feeling exposed?"

Sherlock got up to get his long coat, deciding to put an end to Johns misery. "I don't think John knows where to look."

"No, I think he knows exactly where." Miss Adler said, getting up as well to stand right in front of John before reaching back to get the coat Sherlock offered her. "Not sure about you."

"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop." Sherlock answered.

Rose frowned slightly though. "You do borrow John's laptop."

"I confiscate it." Sherlock corrected.

"Never mind." Irene said, interrupting the banter between them as she pulled the coat around her and sat in Sherlock's place on the sofa, taking off her heels as she did so. "Now tell me, I need to know. How was it done?"

"What?" Sherlock asked as John and Rose just frowned.

"The hiker, with the bashed in head." She clarified. "How was he killed?"

Sherlock frowned, confused slightly. "That's not why I'm here."

"No, you're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway…." She told them.

"That story hasn't been on the news yet, how did you know about that?" John asked, stepping forward to stand by Sherlock.

"I know one of the policemen." She said before correcting herself. "I know what he likes."

"Right, so you like policemen then?" John asked, relaxing enough to sit on the other side of the sofa, still holding the bowl of water.

"I like detective stories." She told him. "And detectives. Brainy is the new sexy." She implored, still looking at John as Rose smirked at Sherlock's confused expression.

"Psitnofthcr." Sherlock said so quickly none of them actually understood him. Rose sighed though, making him shake his head and speak a little slower, though still very fast, pacing as he did so. "Position of the car. Position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay, so tell me. How was he murdered?" She asked.

"He wasn't murdered." He told her, eyes widening as he did.

She seemed surprised though, they all were a little. "You don't think he was murdered?" Irene asked.

"I know he wasn't." Sherlock replied.

A moment passed before she asked again. "How?"

"The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs that I'm looking for are in this room." He replied, still pacing , eyes scanning as the three of them watched him work.

"Okay, but how?" Irene asked, more serious now and getting a little more shocked every time he spoke.

He turned to her. "So, they are in this room. Thank you." He turned to his assistant. "Rose, man the door, let no one in. Take John for company."

"Right, boss." She pushed herself off the wall she was leaning on and tapped John on the shoulder. "Come on John."

"But-" John tried, not understanding once again.

"John!" She shouted from the hall, cutting him off. Looking from Sherlock to the door, he got up and followed her out, still holding the bowl of water. He didn't miss Sherlock's glare at the door though; the man hated to be called _boss_.

Walking out into the hall, he saw Rose rolling up what looked to be a random magazine from the side. "What are you doing?" He asked.

She quickly explained the plan to him before pulling out her lighter and grinning to her friend; she did like fire.

She handed the smouldering paper to John and kept a lookout while he held it high, letting the smoke set off the alarms. After the beeping ran through the house, Rose turned back to John to see him smacking the still burning paper on any surface he could to get the flames to go out. She sighed, took it off him and threw it in the bowl of water he brought with him.

"That works." He said, a sheepish smile on his face. Rose just chuckled at him.

"Alright, you can turn it off now!" they heard form inside the room. They looked to each other though, frowning slightly; neither were tall enough to reach the fire alarm itself.

"Umm…" Rose said, trying to think fast.

"I said you can turn it off now!" Sherlock shouted again, getting irritated with the noise.

"Give us a minute!" John shouted back as Rose contemplated climbing on the table to reach the unusually high ceiling.

However, it turns out neither needed to do anything as a bullet flew to the screeching little box, drawing the attention of the two friends in the hall way.

Running down the stairs came several large men in suits, all holding guns and heading straight for the pair of them.

"Not good." Rose said as she put her hands up either side of her head, John doing the same.


	11. Chapter 11

**Silence In Belgravia**

**The Silence goes Silent**

Even with a gun in his face, John's kept his cool, thanking the man for silencing the alarm.

Pushing the door open, the man who seemed to be in charge barged in, gun raised and ready to shoot the two occupants. "Hands on your head." He turned to Irene. "On the floor. Keep it still."

John and Rose were brought in and thrown to the floor. "Sorry Sherlock." John said.

"Miss Adler, on the floor." Demanded the man and so the woman was put to kneel with John and Rose.

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked, his tone light, his face mocking, humours dancing in his eyes.

The man in charge turned to Sherlock. "No, sir. I want you to open the safe."

Sherlock frowned. "American."

"Best deduction yet, Sherlock." Rose muttered quickly, not able to help herself with the little remark.

"Interesting, though." Sherlock said, ignoring her, looking to Irene instead. "Why would you care?"

"Sir, the safe, now…please." The American said, voice tight.

Sherlock just shrugged lightly. "I don't know the code."

The American seemed a little calmer now. "We've been listening. She said she told you the code."

"Well if you've been listening you'd know that she didn't." Came the quick reply.

The calm was slowly moving on to frustration and annoyance though, the man raising his gun a little higher in response. "I'm assuming I've missed something. From your own reputation I'm assuming you didn't Mr Holmes."

"For god's sake!" Came John's voice. "She the one who knows the code, just ask her!"

"Yes sir." Said the American. "She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

Miss Adler shook her head. "Mr Holmes doesn't know -"

"Shut up!" the American told her, cutting her off. "One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head! That for me, will not be hardship." He grinned. Rose really did think he looked insane. Sherlock however seemed to become very serious and appeared to quite dislike the man in front of him. "Mr Archer, on the count of three, shoot Miss Spencer."

"What!?" John exclaimed. "Leave her alone."

Rose just sighed as she felt the gun against her hair, knowing if anyone could get her out of this, Sherlock could. And she completely trusted him. "Always me who gets threatened. Your turn next time John."

Mr Archer just pushed the gun into the base of her neck though, forcing her to bow her head, wincing in pain from the cold metal.

"I don't know the code." Sherlock said, serious as ever. Rose hoped he was lying.

"One." The American started counting.

"I don't know the code." Sherlock implored.

"Two!"

"She didn't tell me!" Sherlock said, raising his voice at the pressure he was under. "I don't know it!"

Rose had never heard him shout before; now it may just be one of the last things she hears.

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." The American said smugly.

"Sherlock, little help might be nice here." Rose said, trying to be strong and calm in the situation, but her worries were showing clear in her voice; Sherlock didn't have the code and she was going to be the one to pay for it.

Sherlock looked to Irene, brain trying to find an answer before his friend lost her brain to a bullet.

He couldn't find an answer though. And it was too late. The American's voice was final and just a tad regretful.

"Three."


	12. Chapter 12

**Silence In Belgravia**

**Silent Eyes**

"No! Stop!" Sherlock shouted, the American's hand flying up to call off the shot.

Rose's head dropped a little as her neck released the tension she didn't realise had built up, her heart beat pounding in her ears, as though it were celebrating it's continued existence. John just breathed a sigh of relief that Sherlock had stopped them.

Sherlock turned around, hands still by his head, brain thinking as fast as he could make it. Taking a big risk, he brought his hand up and he typed in what he thought was his best chance.

_32...24...34..._

A quiet click could be heard through the silent room and the three hostages as well as Sherlock let go of a breath they had all been holding.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes." Said the American, sounding rather pleased. "Open it, please."

Sherlock turned the little handle, a louder click filling the room as he did. Taking a side long glance at the owner of the safe, Sherlock saw her look away. She almost seemed regretful.

Then it hit him.

"Vatican Cameos." He said, loud enough for them all to hear.

Though the Americans were all confused, Rose and John immediately remembered the case where they had to do extensive research on world war two. They had found that Englishmen would use the phrase "Vatican Cameos" to warn others on the same side of an armed person.

Rose remembered this specific bit of information because Sherlock had lectured her on it and made sure she knew what he was on about, should he ever say it.

John remembered because he was there and found the whole thing highly amusing.

Irene Adler however had no idea what the phrase meant, but of course knew what was inside her own safe.

As Sherlock opened the safe, saying the vital phrase, he ducked, letting the rigged gun shoot the man holding Rose at gun point. Having spun around, Sherlock grabbed the main man's gun, smacking him in the face with the butt of it moments later.

Rose - thanks to Sherlock's gun training - didn't even flinch when the gun went of or when the man behind her fell to the floor. Instead she copied Sherlock's move, standing up and spinning at the same time to punch John's gunman in the neck - she had learnt it caused the victim a lot more pain and confusion and wasn't so tough on her own fists. As predicted the man fel to the floor instantly, hitting his head on a small table as he went.

Looking up, she saw Irene elbow her own gunman where it really hurts before standing up to take his gun off him, elbowing him again in between the shoulder blades, sending the man to his knees, dazed.

"Do you mind?" Asked Sherlock, though Rose was a little confused.

However Irene answered. "Not at all." Before hitting the same man in the face with the butt of the gun, knocking him out completely. Rose saw Sherlock's intentions though as he quickly grabbed something from the safe, slipping it into a pocket before turning around again. She threw him a suspicious look which he ignored as John stood up as well.

"He's dead." The doctor told them, indicating to the man who had been shot.

"Thank you." Irene said, looking at Sherlock. "You were very… observant."

"Observant?" John asked, distracted from the dead man.

"I'm flattered." She carried on.

"Don't be." The consulting detective replied.

"Flattered?" John asked, looking to Rose. She just shrugged though, not knowing what the other two were on about.

Sherlock had other ideas though. "they'll be more of them. They'll be keeping an eye on the building."

John gave up on understanding and moved on. "We should call the police."

"Yes." Agreed Sherlock, turning to his assistant. "Rose?"

She sighed, knowing what he wanted. "On it."

Bending down, she picked up the gun of the dead man and ran out of the room. John was confused once again and so followed her out of the front door. "What are you doing?"

She raised her arm, gun pointing skyward and shot several shots into the air until the screeching of a car could be heard down the street.

She turned to John, grinning once more. "On their way." She told him, walking briskly back to where the other two were, John following once again.

"For gods sake…" John muttered, looking up and down the street, wondering if they had been seen.

"Oh, shut up." She said to him. "It's quick!"

Walking back to the living room they found Sherlock waiting for them, Irene looking a little panicky.

"Check the rest of the house, see how they got in." Sherlock told them. John nodded and left the room again.

"One minute." Rose replied as she went over to the other unconscious men and picked up all the guns lying about ; it wouldn't do them any good if the Americans should suddenly come to and have all their guns. As she did, she heard Sherlock talking again.

"Well, that's the knighthood in the bag." He said, flipping something in his hand.

"Well…" Irene started, seeing a little lost for words. "And that's mine."

Rose looked up then to see Sherlock holding a phone that wasn't his own. _The phone has all the information on _it, she realised.

The phone made a few beeps as Sherlock turned his attention to it. "Alll the photographs are on here, I presume."

"I have copies, of course." She replied.

"No you don't." Sherlock said, calling her out on a lie. "you'll have permanently disabled and uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are proven to be unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

"Who said I'm selling?" she retorted.

He indicated to all the unconscious men around the room. "Well, why would they be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs."

"That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes." She told him and Rose - still watching - could hear the seriousness in her voice. "I'd die before I'd let you take it. it's my protection."

Sherlock brought the phone out of her reach again. "It was."

Rose picked up the last gun and stood up again, turning to the other woman. "Come on."

Following Sherlock up to one of the bedrooms, she found John bent over the woman who had let them in in the first place. "They must have come in this way." He told Sherlock.

"Clearly." was the predictable reply.

"Is she alright?" Rose asked John, nodding to the woman on the floor.

"It's alright, she's just out cold." John assured the two women.

Irene didn't seem to bothered though. "Well, god knows she's used to that." John looked to her then, wondering why they woman should be used to being unconscious. Irene carried onto though, walking past John to a dresser.. "There's a back door. Better check it, Dr Watson."

John just looked to Sherlock, who nodded. "Sure." John replied, making his way to find the back door.

Sherlock just took out the phone again, thinking about the lock on it while Rose went to check the bathroom to see if there was anything to find there.

"You're very calm." She heard Sherlock say. There was a pause before the tone of obviousness. "Well your booby trap did just kill a man."

"He would have killed me." Was the reply he got from Miss Adler. "It was self defence in advance."

Suddenly something seemed wrong and a slap could be heard from the next room. Dropping bottle of diet pills she had found, Rose ran to the other room, just in time to see Irene standing over a crumpled Sherlock, hand held out to him. "Give it to me, now. Give it to me."

"No." Was his slurred reply, stumbling to find his feet again.

"Give it to me!" She ordered him.

"Hey!" Rose shouted, coming out of her shocked state enough to do something. Running forward, she stood between Sherlock and the woman. When she saw Sherlock stumble again though, she turned her back to Irene, going to make sure her friend was alright. Turning back to Miss Adler, Rose demanded. "What did you do to him?"

"Oh for gods sake." Irene said, ignoring the question and turning to the desk, grabbing a ridding crop. "Give it to me."

"Tell me!" Rose shouted back.

Irene seemed to loose her temper now and swung for Rose repeatedly with the ridding crop, catching her on her arms that she had brought up to defend herself with. However, unlike Sherlock - who had no become to incapacitated to move much - Rose had complete control of herself and so she stood, Irene still swinging for her.

Moving forward, on Irene's next swing, Rose caught the riding crop in her palm and held on to it, pulling it from the woman's grip. Throwing her head forward, she head butted the woman square in the forhead, sending her to the floor; her friends always said she had a hard head.

Now the tables were turned, Rose stood over Irene with the riding crop raised. "What did you give him?"

In that moment, John walked in to see Irene on the floor, Rose threatening her with a riding crop and Sherlock hidden behind the bed. "What the hell's going on?" He asked, voice loud enough to fill the whole room.

But as Rose turned her head in surprise, Irene kicked her off her feet, the riding crop falling form her hands as her head smacked the hard wooden floor sending her vision into a world of small black dots before all she could see was black.

John - who didn't know what had happened - just watched as Irene grabbed the phone that lay inches away from Sherlock's limp but shaking form and ran to the bathroom, shouting back a "Thank you dear!" as she went.

John ran over to Sherlock, trying to find out what was wrong with him. "What have you done?"

"He'll sleep for a few hours." She replied a little breathless. "Make sure he doesn't chock on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."

John saw the needle then. "What's his? What have you given him?"

On the other side of the room, Rose was coming too again. "Sherlock…?"

"He'll be fine. I've used it on loads of my friends." Irene assured them.

Rose woke to John's worried voice and sat up, clutching her aching head. Suddenly remembering what was happening, she forced herself to stand up and stumbled over to where Sherlock lay shaking violently, John leaning over him. Looking up she saw Irene at the bathroom window. The woman had paused, watching the three of them.

"You know, I was wrong about him; he did know where to look." She said absently.

Rose was too annoyed and in a little too much pain to deal with riddles at that moment though and snapped back, "What are you on about?"

"The key code to my safe." Irene answered casually.

"What was it?" John asked as Rose frowned heavily in thought and pain.

"Tell that sweet little posh thing the photos are safe with me. To for blackmail, just for insurance." Irene answered.

Rose was sick of not knowing though and snapped at the woman. "What was the code?!"

Irene just smirked and grabbed a rope from what seemed like no where. "My measurements." With that, she jumped backwards out of the open window, leaving the three of them alone in a rather large house, police on the way, several unconscious Americans downstairs, one of them dead and a convulsing Sherlock laying between an aching Rose and a highly confused John.


End file.
